


Faith and Sex and Sex and Faith

by Gemmi999



Series: Good Kid, Gone Missing [7]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M, Series, Transgender
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-14
Updated: 2008-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-22 04:36:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/233820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gemmi999/pseuds/Gemmi999
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He moved through the club gracefully, pausing every few steps to make sure that he was being followed.  When he hit the back wall he held his hand out and grabbed the other man by his wrist.  Turning towards the man, he leaned in and whispered: “Name’s John.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Faith and Sex and Sex and Faith

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the Good Kid, Gone Missing Verse. All previous parts linked at bottom of [My Fic](http://gemmi999.livejournal.com/8410.html#cutid1) page. Overall verse deals with Trans issues. This part contains an OMC.
> 
> THIS is the end of the Good Kid, Gone Missing 'verse. Thank you for reading it!

  
John strolled into the club as if he owned the place—he practically strutted in his tight jeans, making sure to do a slight shimmy every couple of feet so that all the attention would be drawn to his ass. He’d conned his brother into doing the eyeliner this time, so he knew it looked perfect (last time was a horrific memory that involved sharp objects near vulnerable body parts, which was one of the most insane ideas ever). And while his lips were glossy and slightly shiny, he had switched brands: this one didn’t clump, and it wasn’t sticky (he hated having hair catch on his gloss, he’d see it out of the corner of his eye the entire night and inadvertently mess up his makeup trying to pull it free).

The lights were flashing in a rhythmic pattern, drawing his attention towards the edge of the dance floor, and the endless row of cocktail tables, where nearly identical guys stood and shifted from foot to foot, displaying their body in such a way that the competition was clear. He’d forgotten about the rivalry, too many months stationed in Afghanistan where there were barely any clubs, let alone ones that catered to an alternative crowd (at least on Wednesdays and alternate Saturdays).

Ignoring the crowd of people as they pushed their way onto the dance floor, John meandered his way towards the bar, where, once he got he bartender’s attention, a mojito was quickly ordered. He didn’t drink beer much anymore, it reminded him too much of his time in the service. There had been days back in Afghanistan when the waiting had grown interminable, when people drank beer because it at least tasted good (and they weren’t sure about the quality of the water). It reminded him of hot days spent shooting the shit with his friends, comparing stories of sexual prowess. So what if he’d had to change the names of a few people or play the pronoun game—they’d understood and supported him in silence.

John tipped the mojito down the back of his throat, not even bothering to taste the alcohol as it wound its way into his system. He would have slammed the glass down on the bar if it hadn’t been such a cliché. Instead, he tipped the glass over and looked at it with mournful eyes. He didn’t have the cash to splurge on another drink this evening, at least not if he wanted to eat anytime soon. Anorexia had gone out of fashion years ago.

“Can I buy you a drink?” the voice startled John—his training really must have gone down hill if he hadn’t spotted somebody invade his territory is such an obvious manner.

He turned and gave the man a once over, paying particular attention to the bulge in his pants. It looked big.

“Sure,” he smiled charmingly at the stranger. “I’d like that.”

The stranger nodded at the bartender and seconds later a full glass was placed in front of John’s right hand. John raised his glass to the man before taking a sip—he’d already poured one down his throat, downing another drink like that would probably knock him on his ass. Afghanistan had done shit for his tolerance.

The alcohol burned as it hit his throat, then curled down into his stomach. John looked over at the man who had bought his drink—decent arms, a little broad, but not pudgy. Short, but John didn’t mind; though he could imagine the kink he’d get in his neck during an extended make out session. Just as well--he wasn’t looking for long term, and making out would put the evening on a different path entirely. Making out was couples territory, and there was no way in hell that he was in any shape to be one half of couple; he still had too many wounds to lick from Afghanistan, too much to take care of before he went back to work—he leave wouldn’t last forever.

John took another sip of the drink before setting it carefully on the bar in front of him. He inclined his head slightly to the back room and the man nodded, standing to follow him into the darker area of the club. John figured they’d find a dark corner, get each other off, and then he’d be done. Back home and in bed, sleeping off what was looking to be an interesting night at the bar.

He moved through the club gracefully, pausing every few steps to make sure that he was being followed. When he hit the back wall he held his hand out and grabbed the other man by his wrist. Turning towards the man, he leaned in and whispered: “Name’s John.”

The other man smiled slightly and leaned in: “Vincent.” John nodded and pulled on the wrist sharply. The duo entered the shadowed area of the club and seconds later John had Vincent against a back way. He pressed against the body heat of the smaller man and leaned down, nipping slightly at a pair of chapped lips. They opened and suddenly they were pressed together, crammed into a small dark corner, mouths meeting in a surge of liquid heat.

John leaned into the kiss, trying to devour the mouth that tasted of sin and sex. He ground his cock against the warm body that leaned against the wall, and debated the merits of grabbing Vincent’s hands and holding them above his head, because that totally would be something that turned him on. But—no, that was too much for a casual blowjob night.

Instead, John stumbled against the warm body and gradually shifted their positions so he was rested against the wall and could nudge Vincent down on to his knees. He groaned as a warm mouth began to nuzzle his cock through his jeans, and thrust forward slightly. He wasn’t at all prepared for when Vincent took his hands and literally pushed John back against the wall, holding him by his hips against the rough stucco. Vincent mouthed his cock again through John’s jeans, and this time John couldn’t push forward. He could just take and take and take what Vincent was giving him, and it was hot and necessary.

When Vincent finally got around to lowering the zipper on John’s jeans and pulling his cock out through the opening, John was nearly delirious with pleasure. He didn’t bother thrusting forward, but he did moan appreciatively as Vincent traced the vein on the underside of John’s cock with his tongue. John groaned into the wicked hot heat and melted—only surging to awareness minutes later when Vincent pulled off.

“Whaa…” John complained, wordlessly. His hands clenched into Vincent’s hair, trying to pull him down towards the recently neglected part of his body. Instead Vincent stepped back. John whimpered, missing the shared body heat already.

He didn’t want to surface from the desire-induced delirium, but John knew he had to. Vincent wouldn’t have stopped if he didn’t have a good reason—at least, that’s the current theory John was operating under. After all, John might be a downtime-queer, hiding his sexuality from the military was something of an art form, which he managed by only seeing men when he was on a furlough. But even he knew that you never stopped giving a spectacular blowjob unless the world was coming to an end, and even then the entire “stopping” thing was iffy—if he was going to die, he figured there were much worse ways to go.

It was only when John heard a quiet whisper that he thought might have been his name, but he couldn’t be sure—damn club music—did he come to the surface. He opened his eyes slowly and blinked twice. Vincent looked sexy: his mouth was swollen and red and so kissable it took most of John’s self control not to leap forward and push him into a nearby wall or door or anything really, John wasn’t picky. Instead, he forced his eyes away from the kissable lips and looked at Vincent dead-on.

“Do you want to go back to my place?” Vincent placed a hand on John’s bicep and looked at him intently. John shook his head, attempting to clear the confusion, and smiled.

“That’d be nice.” At least it would give him more time to try and figure out exactly what had changed.

“Good.”


End file.
